


This Charming Life

by sabaceanbabe



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Gen, Yuletide, Yuletide 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:56:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabaceanbabe/pseuds/sabaceanbabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gemma beating around the bush?  Something isn't right...</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Charming Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Catalinay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catalinay/gifts).



> Thank you so much to fallenmelody for the last-minute beta.

Tara heard the slam of a car door as she slid the key into the lock, but it didn’t really register. Too many distractions, too many things on her mind, and definitely too much cranky, restless toddler to herd into the house. So when the bag of groceries she held in the crook of her left arm suddenly became weightless and tried to break free of her admittedly light grip, she couldn’t suppress a gasp. Heart pounding, she instinctively tightened her hold on Abel’s warm little hand and pushed hard on the door as she wrenched at the knob to open it. The door slammed against the wall, sending it flying back toward Tara, catching her painfully on the arm.

“Jesus, Doc!” Gemma’s voice, behind her. “It’s just me.” There was a mixture of laughter and concern in the older woman’s tone.

At the sound of Gemma’s voice, Abel began to pull hard but was unable to break free of Tara’s death grip to run to his grandmother. Her brain finally accepting that there was no threat, Tara let the boy loose and he practically flew to Gemma, throwing his arms around her legs. Gemma, still watching Tara, shifted the bag of groceries to a more secure position and ruffled Abel’s hair with her free hand.

“How’s my little man?” Abel grinned up at her and hugged her knees even tighter.

Tara turned back toward the now open door and stepped through, holding it wide for Gemma and Abel and then closing it firmly behind them.

"What are you doing here, Gemma?” she asked.

“Can’t I stop by to see my grandson?” Gemma asked, walking past Tara to set the bag down on the kitchen counter, only slightly hampered by the child clinging to her knee.

Tara raised one brow, skeptical. “Of course you can, but I don’t believe for a minute that’s why you’re here.” Gemma wanted something, she was sure of that; she was equally sure that whatever it was, it bothered Gemma or she would have come right out with it instead of beating around the bush. She leaned back against the opposite counter, arms crossed under her breasts, while Gemma unloaded Tara’s groceries onto the counter, Abel still hugging her knee.

After a moment, Tara pushed away from the counter and crouched in front of Abel, who had begun to tug on the hem of Gemma’s shirt with one hand, reaching up with his other. “C’mere, Abel,” she said. “You’re too heavy for Gramma to pick you up, sweetheart.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Gemma said, forcefully setting down a can of soup, the noise too loud in the otherwise quiet house. She leaned down to scoop the boy up, grimacing slightly as she settled his weight on her right hip.

Still crouching at little-boy level, Tara looked up at Gemma and shook her head. Apparently Gemma was in one of her moods, automatically arguing with whatever anyone said, just for the sake of argument. She straightened up with some effort – it had been a long and busy day and she was tired. And now her arm hurt where she’d caught the door; a bruise had already started to form.

Gemma, meanwhile, was putting away Tara’s groceries one-handed while Abel played with her hair, poking the ends of it through her hoop earring. Tara had to smile at the picture of domesticity. Gemma was a lot of things, but if Tara were asked to list them, domestic wouldn’t even come up.

While Tara watched, Gemma reached up to place a jumbo can of beef broth onto a shelf. Without warning, she cried out and staggered back from the cupboard, hitting her hip on the kitchen counter. She tightened her grip on Abel to keep from dropping him as the can fell to the floor and rolled toward Tara.

“Gemma?” Tara sidestepped the can, heading for Gemma, who was ghost pale and shaking. Gemma allowed Abel to slide down safely to the floor as Tara took her by the hand and led her to a chair. She dropped into it without protest. That, more than anything, worried Tara. “All right, Gemma. Talk to me. This isn’t about a visit with your grandson.”

Tara hooked the other kitchen chair with her foot and slid down into it, facing Gemma and gesturing for Abel to come sit on her lap. Tara noticed for the first time the dark circles under the older woman’s eyes before Gemma’s gaze slid away to focus on Abel as he climbed onto Tara’s leg.

“You and Abel should come live with me,” she said, not looking at Tara.

“What?” Tara frowned at the apparent non-sequitur.

“It makes sense.” Gemma met Tara’s gaze. “You about jumped out of your skin when I came up behind you. The two of you, here alone, after all that’s happened…” She shrugged, looked down again at Abel, probably to hide from Tara the demons in her own memories. “You’d both be safer at my place. It’s big enough for all of us, at least until the boys come home.”

Throughout Gemma’s little speech, Tara watched her, eyes narrowed. “So you’re here to invite me and Abel home with you out of the goodness of your heart?” she asked. “And this has nothing at all to do with whatever that was a minute ago?”

Gemma’s only answer was to sit there and try to look innocent. She wasn’t particularly successful. Tara waited her out until finally Gemma sighed, deflating ever so slightly in her chair.

“All right. The truth is, I’m not doing as well as I should be alone. Getting old is a load of shit, you know that?”

“Your heart?” Tara asked. It had only been a few weeks since Gemma had been hospitalized for a flare-up of her congenital heart condition, the culmination of more stressful events than any one human being should ever have to handle. And that stress wasn’t entirely over, not for any of them.

Looking embarrassed, although she had no reason to be, Gemma confirmed, “Yeah, my heart. My doctor says I’m doing too much. Apparently, I need to slow down and rest.” Her eyes met Tara’s. “But what I said earlier is still true, Tara. You and Abel will be better off staying with me. We’d all benefit. It can’t be easy for you here.”

Tara’s mind flashed back to this very kitchen, to Half-Sack’s death, Abel’s kidnapping, her own inability to do anything about any of it. And then there was all that had happened with Salazar…

“All right, I’ll think about it.” It did make sense, but there were logistics to work out and she was just too tired to think them through just then. She stood, allowing Abel to slide off her lap. “But if we do move in with you, it’s not going to be tonight.” She picked up a jar from the groceries that hadn’t yet been put away. “Spaghetti okay for dinner?”

Gemma rolled her eyes. “That ain’t spaghetti, Doc, but I guess it’ll do.”


End file.
